Remember
by corneroffandom
Summary: One moment in Del Rio's feud with Randy Orton changes everything.


Ricardo Rodriguez stands anxiously on the outside, pressing his fingers together fretfully. Alberto Del Rio's rematch against Randy Orton was wrapping up and to say it was going poorly would be an understatement. No matter how much he encouraged his employer, tried to assist him whenever he was near enough to touch, nothing was working out.

An RKO and it's over, Del Rio quickly falling to another three count. Ricardo bites his nail as his employer sprawls out lifelessly on the mat afterwards, seeming to have no energy to move or defend himself. Orton's sneer teases bad things ahead, the ring announcer shaking his head back and forth as he watches on. _Move,_ he tells himself. _Move now. Do something._

He finally slips into the ring and tries to push Alberto out of the ring, grunting at the dead weight of his employer. "El Patron!" he yells at him, as if that'll make him revive, move himself. He finally gets some traction, his shoes scraping against the rough material of the mat, and flips him onto his back, just under the ring ropes and finally, with a little more of a struggle, clean out of the ring where he hits the floor below and comes to with a pained gasp. Ricardo's rocked back by the momentum, trying to follow when something rough impacts with the side of his head, everything going black around him.

Del Rio hears the collision from the floor, the audience immediately falling silent after a collective gasp and he inches his way to his knees, looking up just to find Ricardo unconscious in front of him. He gapes as Orton poses over him before sneering down at Alberto, nudging Ricardo callously with his boot before slipping out of the ring on the other side and going up the ramp. Del Rio stares on as the referee motions for a trainer, leaning over Ricardo with a frown on his face.

Scrambling, the off-balanced Mexican aristocrat slips into the ring and stares down at his ring announcer, shaking his head in disbelief. It hadn't been that long ago that the younger man had been injured due to Sheamus' ruthless brogue kick. Since then, he'd eaten an RKO against the announcer's desk and had coffee and chili spilled on him, and now... this. Alberto breathes heavily, dropping to his knees as the trainer gingerly rolls him over with help from a couple of referees, immediately settling into examining him. Again. It's so similar to the previous time that it hurts Del Rio to watch, reaching out carefully to rest a hand on Ricardo's arm. Unlike the time before, he doesn't stir, doesn't reach out for his employer, nothing. He just lays there, the trainer looking even more worried than he had back then.

"What's wrong with him?!" he demands, resting a hand on Ricardo's shoulder, disturbed further when that doesn't inspire any kind of response either. "Why is he so still?"

"We don't know, Alberto," the trainers says quietly. "We need to move him now though. We'll be able to do a more thorough exam in the back, where we have more room to work."

Nodding vacantly, he steps aside reluctantly to allow them to do so, watching closely as Ricardo remains unresponsive, not even twitching when they roll him over onto the bodyboard that they slip over to the stretcher waiting on the outside of the ring.

He stops outside of the trainer's officer, grimly shaking his head when a question is leveled at him, taking a few steps away from the door, unable to enter and watch this all happen yet again. It had only been a couple of months ago that Sheamus had ruthlessly kicked him and it had been one thing seeing him semi-conscious, to sit around and watch them work on a fully unconscious Ricardo, well... He scrubs a hand over his face and through his hair, mumbling under his breath. "Wake up, Ricardo," he finally hisses, closing his eyes at the helpless feeling overwhelming him.

He's not sure how long he's been hanging around out there when the door clicks open behind him and he turns to find one of the trainer's assistants peering out at him, a reluctant look on his face. "What is it?" he snaps at the young man, taking a few menacing steps towards him.

"He's stirring," he says. "Just thought you'd like to know." Alberto is staring at him, frozen in unusual uncertainty, as he ducks back into the room.

Collecting himself, he reluctantly pushes the door open and peers inside, listening as the trainer asks Ricardo a couple of average questions, the ring announcer answering correctly, if sounding a little more tired and weak with each word.

Alberto's world changes on a dime when he ventures up to Ricardo's side, peering down at him worriedly, and their eyes lock. He thinks he's seeing things, his mind playing tricks on him, when there is no recognition in his expression, no hint that Ricardo realizes it's him. If anything, he only looks more fearful, uncertain. Del Rio feels a rare burst of fright, as well, when his ring announcer swallows, hands twitching, and raises an eyebrow at him. "Who are you?"

Time stops, his throat suddenly impossibly dry. Del Rio ignores the trainer's response, even the buzz of all of the other people in the room. He stares at Ricardo as Ricardo peers back at him as if he's a stranger and shakes his head. "Que?"

"Who are you?" he repeats, reaching up to touch his head gingerly. Wincing, he looks from Alberto to the trainer. "Where am I?"

Alberto is speechless and numb. "What's wrong with him?" he finally mutters to the trainer, who somehow manages to hide his own reaction to Ricardo's response well enough that neither Alberto nor Ricardo can tell what he's thinking.

"What do you remember, Ricardo?"

He shakes his head vacantly, pressing a hand to his face as he tries to ground himself, force his brain to work right. "Where's Watts?"

The trainer looks as confused as Alberto feels. "Watts?" he mumbles, once more running the lights across Ricardo's eyes to test his response times.

"His former tag partner," Del Rio answers when it finally clicks with him, knowing that his ring announcer remains in contact with the man sometimes. "Ricardo?"

"Si?"

He licks his lips, trying to figure out what to say that wouldn't freak the younger man out further. "What year is it?"

Ricardo takes a breath, closes his eyes as he struggles to think through the ringing in his ears, the pounding in his skull. "Um. I think... 2008." When he opens his eyes once more, both Del Rio and the trainer are exchanging troubled glances. "What is it? What's wrong? Why aren't you telling me anything...?"

Taking over, Del Rio sits across from him and tries to decide the best way to go about this, somehow understanding just what sensitive ground they're truly on at this moment. "I am Alberto Del Rio, Ricardo. I hired you in 2010 to be my personal ring announcer."

Time slows, the two men staring at each other. "2010?" Ricardo finally says, voice faint and vacant as he struggles to rectify this with his most recent memories. "No... I... what... It's 2010?"

Del Rio's eyes lower as he ponders Ricardo's reaction to the truth. "2012," he corrects him lowly. "December."

Ricardo looks like he's been punched- again. "Wha- what?" He shakes his head before a light seems to shine in his eyes, something like realization coming to him. "I know what this is. Watts! Hey, Jason, get in here already, I know this is a prank!"

Alberto sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Ricardo. Watts isn't here. Lo siento, but there is no prank. It is truly December 2012, and you... you're my ring announcer." He pauses, staring him deep in the eye. "My best friend. You do not remember any of it?" The lack of recognition in Ricardo's dark gaze slams through him like a freight train, leaves him breathless. It hurts more than he could have ever expected. This, at least, seems to register with the younger man as his face falls. "Ricardo?"

"I... I don't know what's going on," he admits. "I- lo siento, I don't mean to... disappoint you." He looks as miserable as he sounds at the prospect and Alberto can't help the small surge of hope he feels at the small bit of proof that _his_ Ricardo is still in there somewhere. "I just... can't remember..."

"Don't worry, it's ok. We'll sort this out, si?" Alberto tries to smile, though he thinks he probably doesn't get too far beyond a mere grimace. Even so, Ricardo nods faintly. "Good." He idly pats him on the shoulder. "For now, rest. We'll be leaving the arena soon."

"Si," Ricardo murmurs, eyes already fluttering shut as Alberto leaves to talk with the trainer.

Before he can even open his mouth, the man begins to talk. "He needs to go to the ER, there's no ifs ands or buts about it. This could be relatively minor, it could be serious. I don't have the equipment to determine whether or not here. I only waited this long to do anything because he was already showing subtle signs of waking up in the hallway, I didn't realize the seriousness of the matter until he began to talk." Each word only seems to add to Alberto's ire and the trainer quickly shuts up, watching him uncomfortably.

"And you didn't say this sooner? If he needed attention and you were too idiotic to speak up and say so, you can kiss your career goodbye," he spits, turning sharply on his heel and rushing back into the room. Only slowing down when he sees a slight gleam of fear in Ricardo's half-opened eyes, he takes a painful breath. "We need to take you to the ER now to get checked out."

The fear only grows as Ricardo nods subtly. "A-alright. It's that bad?"

"That idiota trainer is not sure, we just need to determine nothing severe is happening. It's standard," Alberto tells him, trying to sound like he has any clue what he's talking about, like he _knows_ inside and out that Ricardo will walk away from this healthy and whole. The amnesia is one thing, but if something worse is going on in his ring announcer's head, well...

Still looking doubtful, the younger man nods after a few moments. "Ok, then." He stands up slowly, relieved when Del Rio remains nearby in case he needs help, and steps cautiously towards the office door, his head throbbing at the change in position. He doesn't know this place, where the exits are, or who some of the people lining the hallway are watching him. As a long time wrestling fan, he knows a fair amount of them just by virtue of the trade, but personally? No. The very thought that perhaps, in some capacity, he was working _alongside_ them? It makes his head spin all the more. _How could I forget this? _Why _would I forget this?_

The ER is decidedly uneventful. They wait and they stare at each other uncomfortably until Ricardo finds himself approached for an autograph and fills out the sheet of paper thrust towards him, not really understanding why anyone here would want one from an indy wrestler from California. Alberto seems almost amused by his confusion but says little, picking at his fingers as more time ticks by. He swallows and blinks, shaking his head. "Eh, Mr. Del Rio, if you have somewhere you need to be... I mean, you don't really need to wait with me. I know it's tedious."

Alberto stares blankly at him for a moment before shaking his head. "I will not leave you, Ricardo." He sighs, staring at his hands. "I need to know you're going to be alright. I'm fine waiting alongside you."

He can't remember a thing about the man before him but the ring announcer nods anyway, feeling a vague pang at his words. He's almost relieved, though he doesn't know why really, as the man is a virtual stranger to him. _It's better than being alone, I suppose._

When they're finally called in and led to the back, where Ricardo is settled in on an examining cot, Alberto sits down in a nearby chair and watches as the nurse checks his vitals and asks questions, enters some information into the computer and then leaves them, assuring them that a doctor would be in shortly to continue the exam.

Del Rio notes the anxiety on his face and scoots a bit closer. "You will be fine, Ricardo. We'll sort this all out quickly. I swear to you."

Despite feeling like he's only known him maybe half an hour, Ricardo can't help but trust him. "I believe you," he mumbles. "I don't know why, I just do."

Alberto half smiles. "Because, even if you can't remember it, we are mejor amigos." He looks almost sheepish at this admission and peers at his hands. "You are pretty much my only friend in this whole business, and I will not... cannot lose that. Not now, not like this."

They lapse into silence, the man's determined words both surprising Ricardo and making him feel extremely guilty. Before he can apologize or think of anything else to say to possibly ease the man's visible pain at his having forgotten him so completely, the door opens as one of the doctors on staff enters, reading his chart before looking up. "Hello. Ricardo Rodriguez?"

"Si, that- that's me," he confirms, hands twisting anxiously in his lap as the doctor enters the room fully and glances over at Alberto.

"I am his best friend and employer," the older man explains his presence, barely blinking. "Alberto Del Rio."

"I'm Dr. Sam Fuller. So Ricardo," the doctor says, getting right to business. "You hit your head and now suffer some memory loss?"

Before Ricardo can speak up, Alberto cuts in. "He was kicked in the skull," he corrects him dully. "We work for the WWE."

Understanding dawning across the doctor's face, he nods. "I see. Well, let's see what we've got here, hmm?" He begins feeling around Ricardo's skull, flashing the dreaded pen light in his eyes and checking his reflexes, talking as he does so. "I'm going to order some tests, just to see what we're up against. We will keep you for awhile, just to make sure. I'm not seeing anything that points to anything too serious, but any number of things could be going on, so I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Alberto looks relieved at this, not wanting Ricardo out where help might be too far away in case something should start to go wrong quickly. He smiles faintly as Ricardo nods, looking half-asleep already. "How long will these tests take, Doctor?"

"Not long, we will let him rest and schedule more in the morning, I just want to get a couple of simple ones out of the way now, so we know nothing needing immediate attention is being overlooked. You may wait in his permanent room until they're completed, the nurse can take you to where he'll be staying for the evening." Alberto looks relieved at this, not sure how they'd handle the whole visiting hours thing, considering it's a little past 8 PM now, but the doctor barely bats an eye at it. "Orderlies will be in soon to take him for the tests."

"Alright." Alberto watches him leave and turns back to his ring announcer, shaking his head. "Ay, Ricardo. What can I do to fix _this?_" Always floundering whenever money couldn't fix something, he is uncomfortably aware that the brain is a mystery- something Ricardo himself marvels over often, with articles and DVDs about metaphysics and other topics that Alberto only feigns to understand- that all the riches in the world may never completely touch.

Ricardo doesn't seem to have an answer, because he says nothing. They sit in silence until orderlies and nurses come to take him for the tests ordered, which thankfully go by quickly. The younger man is already asleep by the time they bring him back to the room he'll be staying in for the rest of the night, Alberto barely responding when a nurse subtly suggests he leave to get some rest as well. She gives up after a bit and leaves to check on the rest of her patients, the Mexican aristocrat frowning across at his friend as he continues struggling to wrap his mind around all that had happened in the last couple of hours.

The more he thinks about it all, the more tired he becomes until he just can't keep his eyes open any longer. He's not sure how exactly long he sleeps but a soft murmur nearby causes him to jerk awake, glancing from left to right before peering straight ahead. Ricardo's eyes are open, gazing right at him, and he sits up straight. "Ricardo?" For a wild, hopeful moment he hopes his ring announcer has remembered him, but as the silence continues, he knows he's wrong.

"Mr. Del Rio?" the cold, polite greeting sends another knife through his chest and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Were you... here all night?"

Recollecting himself, the Mexican aristocrat slowly nods, opening his eyes. "Si, Ricardo. Of course I was. Did you think I would leave you here alone?"

Looking flustered, Ricardo fumbles with the sheets pooling around his midsection. "I... honestly didn't know."

Alberto nods, not entirely surprised by the comment itself but uncertain just how much further his anguish can go with each passing moment. It's not Ricardo's fault, of course- Del Rio, after all, is little more than a perfect stranger to him currently, but to have so suddenly lost the trust and camraderie that they'd had not even sixteen hours earlier eats at him. Especially when he realizes just how horribly he'd taken it all for granted.

He is rescued shortly from these thoughts when there's a knock on Ricardo's door and Dr. Fuller enters, a small smile on his face. "Good morning," he greets the two men. "How are you feeling today, Ricardo?"

The ring announcer looks a little lost but finally takes a deep breath, his fingers pressed tightly together as he fumbles over how to answer. "My head still hurts, but... I think I feel ok." His gaze hesitates on Alberto's stoic face and he winces. "I can't remember anything from the past few years still, however."

The doctor nods, noting this as he takes a quick glance at the vitals visible on the machines. "We want to run a few more tests this morning, but if they come back clear, we'll probably release you a little later. You'll probably want to make some follow up appointments with your personal physician, however."

Ricardo nods yet again but Alberto speaks up then. "I understand that amnesia has no known cure right now, Doctor, but what would you suggest we do in the meantime?"

Dr. Fuller hesitates, looking from man to man. "As you said, there's no cure, but most times amnesia corrects itself. It just takes time and patience."

"So a neurologist wouldn't be able to do anything?"

"I wouldn't say that," he hedges, tucking the medical file under his arm as he shifts position and looks from man to man. "New advances are made daily in the medical field, it's just what works for one person may not work for another. If his memories return, it'll more than likely be when you least expect it, on its own."

"I see," Alberto mumbles, already working on a list of things to do to try to fix this situation. It might not have any effect on what's going on, but at least Del Rio will feel like he was doing _something... _As soon as the nurses arrive and take Ricardo away to run the tests, he steps out of the ER and begins to make phone calls, putting feelers out to specialists and anyone else he thinks might help with Ricardo's amnesia. Wrapping up the final call, he returns to Ricardo's room and sighs, equally worried and relieved to have finished before his ring announcer. _These tests are taking quite awhile. I hope this is normal..._

His worry dissipates when Ricardo is pushed back into the room, the nurse helping him out of the wheelchair that was hospital procedure and back to the bed. She smiles at Alberto once he's settled. "We should have the results of these tests shortly. I'll be back then."

"Gracias," they mumble together, Ricardo blinking in surprise as Del Rio smiles faintly. Silence, awkward and tense, fills the long minutes that follow after that, Alberto idly staring at the various posters and signs hanging around the walls, warning against this and that, advising various things. It's dull and empty and he feels worse with breath he takes, remembering the last time they'd been in the ER after Sheamus' attack, when, even half-unconscious and in so much pain he could barely take in a full breath, Ricardo had tried to uphold his half of a conversation, his sense of humor even in the worst of moments keeping Alberto from completely losing it while they waited.

He misses it, and he'd like to find something to say, do, to bring it all back, but he has no honest idea where to begin. So when the door opens and the doctor enters close to fifteen horribly long minutes later, scanning over Ricardo's file, Alberto releases a strained breath, immediately sitting at attention. "Doctor," he greets him, forcing himself not to look over at his ring announcer just yet. "What did you find?"

The man looks from Del Rio to Ricardo before sitting down in a backless chair, spinning it closer to face Ricardo, while not excluding Alberto from the conversation. "You were very lucky, Mr. Rodriguez. Previous whiplash injuries were exacerbated slightly, yes, but you have only a very minor concussion. No other head injuries." He hesitates, looking over at Alberto for a moment. "As I said, there's nothing to do about the amnesia, except wait and see. For now, Mr. Rodriguez needs rest and quiet. If he starts feeling ill, bring him back but for now, aspirin should be enough to control whatever pain he might experience." The doctor pauses, his gaze flicking from man to man. "Any questions?"

"No, thank you, Dr. Fuller," Ricardo murmurs. As Alberto echoes this, the doctor nods and leaves the two men to their thoughts as they wait for the discharge papers to be brought in with a nurse. This filled out and his clothes brought back to him, Ricardo looks beyond relieved to exchange them for the hospital scrubs he'd been ordered to wear when they'd admitted him. Alberto waits behind the curtain pulled around to give his friend some privacy and scrubs at his face, wondering what he'll do if this amnesia thing ends up being permanent...

The trip from the hospital back to the hotel seems to tire Ricardo out, the ring announcer immediately sinking into the bed that Alberto points out to him when he asks which is his, all but groaning at how nice even the stiff, worn sheets feel against his body. The hospital had been alright for its purposes but sleep there is near impossible, Alberto knows, between the staff constantly wandering around and various beepings and alarms sounding at all hours, so he's not surprised when his ring announcer immediately falls asleep once he's under these sheets, the comparable silence of the hotel helping both men to relax.

Alberto, not wanting to risk disturbing his rest, goes out into the hall and starts checking the messages on his phone. Returning a few of them, he listens as neurologist after neurologist responds to his voicemails with variations of what the ER doctor had told them, some of his hope fading with each realistic answer. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, resting his forehead against his arm. "I'll fix this, Ricardo. I swear."

The ring announcer only wakes up a time or two the rest of the day for some food or a quick drink, before falling asleep once more, and Alberto would worry except that he'd made sure to ask him questions similar to what the trainer had asked the day before, Ricardo answering correctly each time, even the year question though he has to fix his answer the first time, which he succeeds at within seconds.

Sunday dawns bright and quiet, Alberto waking up groggily and finding himself sitting at the desk, surrounded by a stack of papers and his cell phone laying nearby, its battery drained from all of the calls he'd made to various contacts, trying to find someone who knows a way to help with amnesia sufferers. He grunts and scrapes his fingers through his hair before connecting his phone to its charger, yawning dully. "Ricardo-" he starts to say, turning stiffly in his chair to find his friend's bed empty, the room's silence registering with him. He pales and stands so unsteadily that he knocks the chair over and stumbles over to the bathroom, blinking in surprise to find it dark and empty as well. "No, no. Where is he?"

He's about to storm through the rest of the building, rampaging until he finds the injured younger man, when he hears suspiciously loud city noise, turning once more on his heel to find the balcony door open an inch. He swallows, shaking his head, and approaches it, peering outside. Ricardo is standing there, back to Alberto, as he takes in the early Sunday morning horizon, and despite how fast the Mexican aristocrat's heart is racing in his chest, his throat suspiciously tight, the man looks fine. "Ricardo!"

The ring announcer jerks and turns to look, lips parting in surprise. "Mr. Del Rio?"

"What are you doing out here? I didn't know where you were, couldn't find you, and you have a concussion! What if you became dizzy or lost your balance or-?" he snaps, finally cutting himself off when Ricardo looks unsettled by his rant, his eyes widening. _Ok, ok,_ he breathes. _Take it easy. This is the last thing he needs, after all._ Trying to ease his temper and talk more calmly, he reaches out gingerly. "Please, Ricardo. Come inside. Aren't you getting cold out here?" Eyes darting around uncomfortably, he nods hesitantly and approaches Alberto, freezing in front of him as if he's a little worried to actually walk past him. "Go inside, amigo," Alberto whispers, trying to sound reassuring and comforting while holding the door open for him. "I'll find the room service menu and we can order some breakfast."

His reluctance continuing all through Alberto waiting for him to figure out what he wants for food, barely seeming brave enough to ask for anything more complicated than sugar with his coffee, Del Rio spends the whole progress lecturing himself internally for laying into Ricardo so harshly, despite his worry being legitament, when he only has maybe twelve hours of memories of Alberto to fall back on, analyze. His gripe with the day only continues when he calls room service just to be told that the hotel was understaffed and they couldn't deliver as quickly as they normally boast, the concierge explaining that if Alberto would be willing, they could call when the food was ready, and he could come collect it himself.

He stews over this, eyes flickering over to Ricardo, whose already shaky appearance is the only thing that keeps Del Rio from completely losing it on the hotel staff. "Fine," he says tensely, figuring that it wouldn't hurt them to have a few minutes apart anyway, considering how badly things were beginning to go between them anyway. "That would be fine." He hangs up the phone with a tired sigh and chances a glance at his ring announcer before collecting his still charging cell phone and placing a quick call.

"Otunga, I need to go down to the main lobby shortly. Mind staying with Ricardo for a little while?" Thankfully his lawyer is a little more dependable than the hotel, agreeing easily. "Gracias," Alberto mumbles, hanging up and turning to wait, smiling plaintively as Ricardo glances uncertainly at him. "You're going to be alright here with Otunga, you two got along well during the cases a couple of months ago."

"Cases?" he echoes, brows furrowing as he shakes his head, confused.

Cursing himself for saying anything about _that_, Alberto takes a deep breath. "Si, it's a long story but you were injured by a competitor in the WWE and Otunga was our lawyer when we sued him." He waves his hand dismissively and shakes his head. "Don't worry about it right this moment, mi amigo."

"Al- alright," Ricardo whispers, frowning faintly as he wonders what else of his life has slipped through his fingers with this memory loss. There's a knock at the door and he stands anxiously, not sure what to expect, as Alberto answers, moving back to sit in his chair while waiting for the hotel to call them about their food. He takes in the lawyer/wrestler with a curious gaze, blinking when Otunga half-smiles at him. "Hola," he says finally.

"Hey, Ricardo." He hesitates, turning to look at Del Rio. "So... are the rumors true? He suffered amnesia thanks to Orton?" Even the concussed young man can see the wheels turning in his mind, a cunning gleam in his gaze, but when Alberto nods grimly, he loses some of his calculating humor. "Damn. I'm sorry, Ricardo. Is it temporary?"

"Doctor says probably, we just have to wait and see," Alberto sighs. "I've placed some calls to see if anything can be done, but for now..." Otunga looks understanding, well aware of how impatient Del Rio is, the two men exchanging glances, the moment disrupted by the phone ringing. Alberto snags it and answers it, eyes closed in boredom as he nods dully. "Yes, fine. Thank you." He stands with a sigh and collects his wallet and the keycard. "Food's ready, I'll be back in a few moments." He tries to catch Ricardo's eyes, failing, and shakes his head slightly.

Once Alberto is gone, Otunga sits down next to Ricardo. "You and Del Rio having problems with all of this?"

The ring announcer looks uncomfortable as he peers over at yet another stranger who knows him better than he ever remembers knowing them, and swallows. "It's awkward," he admits lowly. "I remember... nothing about him, but he seems to know me well... I don't know..."

"You're best friends," Otunga says it like it's as simple as saying the sky's blue, grass is green, and once upon a time, Ricardo might've agreed with him, but now, it only deepens the disconnect in the younger man's dark eyes. "How about I show you?" he offers, spotting Ricardo's iPad on the bedside table.

"How?"

Youtube is easy to find, Otunga searching for clips within moments. Beyond the various WWEfannation clips, there are general clips uploaded from fans and he nods, scrolling through some of them he recognizes. He points out a couple of clips that he remembers before handing the device over and from there thoughtlessly wanders the room while he scrolls through the listings. He hesitates over a link, pressing it gingerly with his finger, and swallowing as it loads.

Within it, Alberto is carrying a bright red briefcase, looking confused as his theme music plays despite his being in the ring already, just for a wide, surprised grin to pass over his face as Ricardo himself comes out and begins speaking in hurried Spanish, apparently making his return from one of the injuries Del Rio had eluded to in the second promo Otunga had shown him. He scrolls through a few other clips that seem harmless enough, Alberto seemingly pleased by his ring announcing or following a Royal Rumble win, when he'd seemed so thrilled that he'd rushed into the ring and hugged him, or...

His eyes flicker towards Otunga, who's now distracted by his cell phone, and swallows before clicking on a video. He watches with a frown as his employer corners him in his locker room, screaming at him in Spanish, before slapping him harshly and sending him against the wall, dazed, before spitting out more insults and pushing him towards the partially open door where the cameramen are spying on them. He watches himself screaming Spanish at them, frenzied, before slamming the door shut behind him. He wonders, beyond disquiet, what exactly else had happened that night but the prospects are too ugly to consider, so he quickly finds another video, but this is no better than the last, Del Rio pushing him around and insulting him again after a car of his had gotten stolen and all but ruined by the man known as Sheamus.

The horrific videos far outweigh the good and his throat goes dry, his hands almost shaking hard enough to drop the device the longer he watches, Otunga still not paying a bit of attention to him as he grows paler and paler. He's so focused on the videos that he doesn't even notice when the hotel door opens, nor when someone tries talking to him. But he_ does_ notice when there's a rough gasp overhead, the iPad torn from his grip, the sudden loss causing him to jerk and shake harder. When he looks up and finds Alberto staring down at him, eyes dark with some unreadable emotion, he gasps as well and scrambles backwards, until he hits the headboard. He curls in on himself, not sure what to expect- another slap, push, or just screamed insults- but the hissed Spanish that follows is distant, not aimed at him, the rough squeech of protesting door hinges all he hears. He looks up in time to see Del Rio push Otunga out of the room and slam the door behind him. "Perro!" he yells, kicking the doorframe before turning to find Ricardo staring at him in utter fear. He takes a deep breath, scraping his fingers against his face, trying to calm himself. "Ricardo... mi amigo..."

"Lo siento," he babbles, not wanting a repeat of the videos he'd just watched, his headache growing as he tries to shield his face from whatever Del Rio might attempt, his anger still visibly brimming at the surface. "I, I... por favor, I didn't mean to see those- Otunga started showing me videos to try to trip my memory, and I just... I came upon them, it..."

"Hey, hey, stop," Del Rio beseeches him, his anger towards Otunga overwhelmed by an unsettled sadness due to the flood of words from his trembling friend. "Ricardo-" As he reaches out for the ring announcer, the younger man twitches away from him and closes his eyes tightly, breathing heavily. "No, no. Listen to me." His fingers hover over Ricardo's jaw, not touching. "I'm not sure what all you saw, but I can't deny it. I'm far from a fair employer, you deserved better, I know this- but that was only one side of the story, mi amigo. I am a different man when in an arena. It is the adrenaline of a match, and all of the people I am competing in front of. It doesn't make it right, far from it, but you always understood and never held it against me."

Despite it being at an angle, he can still see the screen of the iPad, froze on a screenshot of Alberto screaming at a cowering Ricardo, and the ring announcer can't comprehend what he'd seen in all of the videos with this man before him, hopeful and pleading, trying to explain like what he'd witnessed is some misunderstanding, easy to talk it all away. "I, I don't... I don't understand," he finaly chokes out, shaking his head. "I'm so confused."

"I know," he whispers. "I know. Lo siento." He stands tensely, his hands hovering close to Ricardo and finally he shakes his head. "I wish I could give you your memories back, or fix this, so you... you understand. But I can't." He hates feeling helpless, but the longer he looks into his friend's blank, scared eyes, the more the sensation grows within him. "The only thing I'm certain of is... you'll... stay? Give me a chance to make this better, or... at least until you have your memories back?" His words are awkward, his thoughts are strange, and he's never felt so desperate to make something go his way.

Ricardo purses his lips, everything in him telling him to run, go somewhere safe-but he's not sure where that is, California still seems like home to him, but that was nearly four years ago, and he's not sure where he lives or who's in his life currently, and all he has is the man standing before him, eyes gleaming with an odd mixture of hope and fear. On top of that, he's pretty certain his position as Alberto's ring announcer is contractually obligated, which would make it more complicated to get out of. Never one to shy away from his duties either way, he raises an eyebrow at the older man and nods hesitantly. "Si. I, I'll do my job."

Alberto's face relaxes into a soft, pained smile and he nods. "Gracias, gracias. I promise, Ricardo, it won't be like it was before. I'll... I'll be better. I'll help you to recover. I promise, amigo." He leans forward and carefully runs his fingers through the younger man's hair, trying not to be offended or hurt when he tenses at first, but subtly relaxes into his touch, Ricardo's breaths loud and harsh in both of their ears, eyes closed. With Alberto's other hand, he shuts the iPad off and vows never to leave Otunga alone with Ricardo again, until the ring announcer is once more completely himself. "Lo siento..."

Ricardo doesn't respond to any of this and Del Rio finds himself worrying that perhaps pushing the ring announcer to fulfill his duties is the wrong way to play this, but there's not a lot he can do about it right now. "I'm tired," he mumbles, shifting away from Alberto's lingering fingers and laying down with his back to his employer.

It hurts to be so easily dismissed but Alberto knows that rest is good for the injured man so he sighs and moves away, placing the iPad on the desk across the room before clicking the lamp off so Ricardo's sleep won't be disrupted, staring helplessly at the food that won't be touched now.

After a quiet afternoon of restless pondering where Ricardo spends most of it asleep or avoiding him, halfheartedly watching whatever he has on the TV, Del Rio watches the sun go down, turning a lamp on to cast Ricardo's once more sleeping face in sharp relief to him as the shadows fade away. For the first time in he's not sure how long, he realizes anew just how _young_ Ricardo actually is. Despite his intelligence and cunning, at the end of the day, he's barely in his mid-20s and already been through so much- neck injuries, many humiliating situations and now this... amnesia. He scrubs at his face and wonders if, perhaps, forcing him to fulfill his contract is a mistake. If perhaps sending him back to his family in California to recover would be the kind option... no matter how empty he feels when he thinks about continuing his career without his ring announcer by his side for the first time in years, or not being involved in his recovery... He shakes his head and sighs, not sure what path to take. "Ricardo," he mumbles.

When he looks up, dark eyes are peering back at him, confused and tired. "Si?" the younger man asks wearily, reaching up to wipe at his sleep-sticky eyes. "Is there something you need?"

Del Rio blanches, shaking his head. "No, no. I- I didn't realize... you were awake, lo siento." They sit in silence for a few moments before Alberto looks up at him, once more pondering. "Ricardo...? I know, earlier, you said you wanted to stay and continue working for me, but..." He takes a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "It... you've had time to sleep on it, and I... don't want to force you into something you don't want to really do. If you want to... to go heal back in California, with your family, I understand. It's up to you, which would you prefer? Honestly."

Ricardo looks at him, sleepily, and he wonders if perhaps asking this while he's still waking up is a mistake, but the certainty in the man's voice can't be ignored when he finally answers. "I won't renege on my responsibilities, Mr. Del Rio. What I told you stands. I will fulfill my contract." It sounds cold, formal, but Alberto doesn't blame him, no matter how much it hurts. After all, he's a perfect stranger to the younger man.

"Alright," he says quietly, trying to smile but knowing that he's failing. He's worn out physically and emotionally and, although it rankles at him, he needs sleep, and he tells the younger man so, knowing that since Ricardo had spent most of the day asleep, he will probably be up most of the night. There's no camaradrie, no recognition in the man's subtle nod, and it's another harsh reminder of all that's gone wrong in the last few days.

He rolls over and closes his eyes, trying not to lose himself in just how badly he's missing his ring announcer, his _friend._ How badly he'd taken the man for granted all of those months, all of those years. "Lo siento," he murmurs sleepily, finally giving in to his body's bone-deep exhaustion.

The next day dawns way too early, way too bright, and Alberto grimaces at it, looking over to find Ricardo dozing in his own bed. Based on all of the things scattered around his bed, books and his iPad, paper and pens, he has no doubt that the young man _had_ been up until just recently, looking for quiet ways to pass the time while Del Rio slept. His small smile fades when he catches sight of the bruising only just visible under his hairline, where Orton's boot had made contact, and he sighs. They have to leave for Raw in a few hours, and the man's memory is still nonexistant. Not for the first time, he second guesses allowing Ricardo to accompany him while unable to remember anything, but... he wants him there, also. Shaking his head at himself, he slowly gets out of bed and makes his way to Ricardo's side, gently shaking him. "Mi amigo, wake up. We have to leave soon."

The ring announcer mumbles, trying to get away from his hands, but Alberto is insistent, Ricardo's dark eyes opening as he stares up at his employer, visibly confused. "Eh... who..." Tense seconds tick by as the Mexican aristocrat stares at him, frozen, certain that he'd once more lost the few tenuous memories they'd collected the past couple of days, but after a moment, grogginess fades from his expression and it registers- "_Oh._ Mr. Del Rio. Lo siento," he mumbles around a yawn, sitting up uncertainly.

"It's ok," he offers quietly, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Sleepy," he breathes out, stretching his legs out underneath the sheets and yawning faintly, covering his mouth and looking away, almost seeming embarrassed as Alberto smiles slightly. "Mmm... What ... needs to be done today?"

"Raw is tonight," the Mexican aristocrat offers. "We have to be at the arena in a couple of hours. Other than that, nothing's scheduled to my knowledge."

Ricardo nods grimly. "Si, alright. And... all I do is... announce you to the ring?" he asks uncertainly, obviously confused as how he'd gone from being a wrestler to ring announcer so suddenly.

Alberto's smile grows sad, his eyes grim. "Si, that's right. And when you're done, I want you to go sit by the commentary table and just watch. You'll be safer there, mi amigo." He pats him on the shoulder, stepping back so he can get up and begin the day. "I'll wait here until you're ready."

Ricardo glances around hesitantly before nodding. "Gracias." He stands slowly and collects the things that Alberto points out for him, unsure where to begin as he remembers nothing of what he used to do, how he'd dressed, anything else. Once Del Rio nods at him, he stands slowly and walks to the bathroom, the silence between them awkward and strained.

This continues through the drive to the arena and the wait for Del Rio's match against Dolph Ziggler, Alberto wanting to start a conversation like he used to be able to with ease, but unable to find the words. When he finally begins to change into his wrestling gear, Ricardo already in his tux, Alberto can't help but smile a little as the ring announcer waits nearby, holding his water and the ever-present scarf for him. It reminds him a little of the early days, when neither of them really knew each other that well but Ricardo had still been helpful, determined to earn his pay. Although it's sad, it's also comforting, the familiarity of it all.

When the ring announcer speaks for the first time in a few hours, it startles Alberto. "Who... are you competing against tonight?" he asks lowly, watching grimly as his employer stretches for the match soon to come.

"Dolph Ziggler," he says automatically, remembering after a few moments of silence that the ring announcer has no recollection of who that may be. He looks up with a grimace and shakes his head. "You used to call him Barbie Ziggler," he says vaguely, smirking as he recalls the mocking nicknames Ricardo would give some of his opponents and partners alike. As he stares into his friend's blank gaze, he hopes that soon, _that_ Ricardo will be back, all of his memories and quirks in tact once more. "He was a male cheerleader in WWE a few years back," he offers, trying to provide a gimmick that the younger man might actually remember.

Ricardo stares at him, shaking his head. "Wait, the Spirit Squad?" He honestly laughs for the first time since he'd woke up, Alberto smiling too. "Which one was he?"

"Nicky."

The ring announcer squints for a moment before grinning. "I think I remember him. They had the trampoline, right?"

"Why yes, they did," he smirks. This is a small moment, but it's the first that they've had since Ricardo had been punted, and for a wild moment, it slips his mind that the young man before him has no memory of their time together, everything feeling _so_ normal again. It's only when Ricardo steps forward, hesitantly wiping some sweat from his forehead, each movement awkward and jerky, that Del Rio recalls that things are _not_ normal, far from it. He sighs softly, thanking the ring announcer quietly, before turning to enter the building. After a short pause, the ring announcer follows him inside.

They walk silently to gorilla, Alberto peering out as Ziggler does his usual entrance, rolling his eyes at the obnoxious man and his antics. When his music finally hits, he watches as Ricardo ventures out, reciting his usual entrance spiel for Del Rio, gaining confidence slowly the longer he goes. By the time he says Alberto's name, he _almost_ sounds completely like himself and Alberto sighs, driving out in his car while beeping his horn loudly to gain attention. Once getting out, he slams the door shut and sneers at the crowd before joining Ricardo on the ramp, smirking at his friend. A gleam of appreciation is in the younger man's eye as he peers down at the car of the week. "Come," he says quietly, leading the way down to the ring.

Ricardo nods, following him to the back of the ring, frowning in some confusion until Alberto points out a chair waiting for him. He stares at it for a moment before glancing back to his employer. Del Rio expects _some_ argument from the stubborn man but he merely nods and sits down in it to watch the proceeding match, his eyes wide as some audience members start calling out his name.

Alberto smiles sadly as he realizes that Ricardo's unaware that, despite everything, he's still pretty popular with a fair amount of the crowds they compete in front of. He sighs and grimaces, entering the ring to face off with the bleach blond superstar, trying to force himself to concentrate on what's ahead. When the bell rings, they start off with a lock up, both struggling to get the upperhand. Del Rio forces through, slamming Ziggler against the mat before kicking his arm roughly and snapping his upperbody back as he shoots off of the ropes and kicks him in the skull, not wanting to waste his time with this match. It's just a stop gap during his feud with Orton, after all, still determined to get payback against the Viper for all he'd done.

But his determination to finish it quickly backfires when Dolph begins to pick up momentum, dodging an enzuigiri and clotheslining him roughly, startling the Mexican aristocrat. He's laying, dazed, on the mat, when Ziggler locks in a sleeperhold, wrenching back on his jaw and applying just the right amount of pressure to slowly drain his energy and strength away from him. He blinks slower and slower, turned towards the table where he can see Ricardo sitting, watching with wide eyes. His hand outstretched as he tries to remain conscious, he finds himself wondering why the ring announcer seems so far away, the distance between them only growing with each passing moment.

Ricardo watches as his employer seems to instinctively turn towards him, his eyes fluttering weakly even as he stares at him, hand outstretched towards the ropes and... he winces, squirming in his seat as flashes of... something... take over, distracting Ricardo from the match as they grow clearer, harder to ignore.

_"...Ricardo, this is your bedroom,_" Del Rio's voice announces as he opens a door in the large house that he'd just recently bought upon moving to America for this opportunity in the WWE. _"My room is across the hall. Is it to your liking?"_ And all the ring announcer can think as he looks in at the room is _Ay dios mio, this is all mine?_

He wakes up in that very bedroom, body throbbing in pain, Alberto sitting at the foot of his bed with a tense look on his face. "_Ricardo, you're awake,_" he says quietly, lips twisting into a tight smile. "_It'll be ok. I'll make Big Show pay, I promise." _Ricardo nods, believing him easily. "_No one touches mi mejor amigo and gets away with it."_ It's the first time he's ever called him that, the ring annoucer marvels, in too much pain to react verbally.

He's holding a mic, grinning at his employer so hard that it almost hurts, and the Mexican aristocrat is grinning back at him almost wider. "Welcome back," he calls out to him once he enters the ring, clapping him on the arm and drawing him closer to murmur into his ear before his match begins, handing him the Money in the Bank briefcase and urging him to sit on a chair at ringside, take it easy.

They sit in a locker room, Ricardo carefully wiping a cloth over the freshly installed nameplate on the WWE title, his eyes gleaming with pleasure for his employer. "_Congratulations, El Patron,"_ he says softly, feeling like he could overflow with happiness as he glances at the other man lounging on the leather couch, for once at perfect ease while he watches his ring announcer baby the title belt.

He's sore again, bruises and abrasions greeting him with each movement, and Alberto looks about as bad, his eyes dull as they stare at each other. They sit and listen to a nurse explain to them post-surgery care that he'll require, suggesting in-home nurses and other things to ease his recovery following his groin surgery. Ricardo listens and takes notes as well as he can, considering his own injuries, and then the nurse is gone, leaving them alone to once more stare at each other, pondering the next few months of recovery and missing action in the WWE. "_We'll be alright, El Patron_."

He trudges backstage after wrestling and losing to Santino, humilated and glum, to find Del Rio waiting for him, unable to compete at the pay per view due to his concussion. He drops a robe around the younger man's shoulders and claps him on the back, saying very little as he clasps the clothing together, barely looking up at his employer. "_Gracias, El Patron_," he says softly, glancing up as the older man keeps his hand between his shoulder blades, leading him through the halls back to the locker room for some peace from the sneering superstars lurking around. "_Lo siento_..."

Another injury, his neck feeling like it's on fire but somehow numb all at once this time, and he can barely walk, Alberto by his side as they head towards the ring, hands supportive and steady on his arm and back as he breathes heavily, trying not to fall. "_He's more than just my ring announcer. He's my friend... my only friend,"_ Del Rio says, his voice cracking mid-sentence as Ricardo watches on, miserable.

The flashes disappear, Ricardo coming back to the here and now to find himself standing by the apron, watching as the referee raises the older Mexican's hand, counting him towards defeat while he slumps in Ziggler's hold. Awash in sudden desperation to _not_ see his employer- his friend- lose a match in this fashion, he lunges forward and slams his fists against the apron. "El Patron!" he yells out just as the referee counts two, prepares to lift his arm for a third.

Amazingly, Alberto's eyes flutter open and they stare at each other through the ring ropes, Del Rio's hand lifted to the sky once more before the referee releases it, the arena watching with baited breath as he finally fights, keeping it upright as the referee waves off the count. Ricardo releases a sharp breath, nodding in relief as his employer begins to fight back, punching himself free from Dolph and stumbling to his feet. When Ziggler lunges for him, he's greeted by a kick to the skull before Alberto tangles him up in his armbar, wrenching back brutally until he taps.

Ricardo, more confident now, announces Del Rio the winner with more of his usual style from the very start, when Alberto drops from the apron in front of him, eyes wide as they stare at each other. "Ricardo?" he asks finally, not sure if he should trust in what he thinks he's seeing, what he had noticed during the match. "Do you... I mean..."

"I remember," the ring announcer breathes out, eyes soft and a little wet. "Not, not everything but- some... like, snapshots... of moments from the last few years." He laughs brokenly as Alberto's face brightens in relief, patting his jaw with an awed hand. All humor leaves him, however, as he recalls the day before, how badly he'd reacted to what he'd seen on Youtube. "El Patron, I... I'm sorry. Yesterday-"

"No, no apologies," he tells him. "I understand. Otunga was foolish, as always. Most probably do think poorly of our friendship considering what you saw. Without the whole story... anyone would've thought..." He trails off. "I know I am far from kind to you sometimes. I deserved worse from you, honestly." He sighs heavily. "But you are the only one who truly accepts and understands me, nonetheless."

Ricardo smiles sadly, feeling badly for the man before him. "Of course, you- you're my best friend." Despite not having all of his memories yet, that is a fact he can't deny, especially when Alberto wraps his arms around him and murmurs gratitude into his hair, pulling away after a moment to grin at him. Ricardo knows that the still unfortunately large gaps in his memory will take time to mend together, but this, here... now, is a good start. He grins back.


End file.
